


you've got a fire inside but your heart's so cold

by asweetdeception



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Choking, Dark Bellamy, Dark Bellamy Blake, Dark Castle, Depression, F/M, Kidnapped Clarke, King Bellamy, Princess Clarke, Rough Sex, Smut, dark au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 17:44:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5342831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asweetdeception/pseuds/asweetdeception
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke has spent her whole life being a porcelain princess for her Queen mother and the people of Arkadia, and it has left her with a feeling of emptiness and nothing. But when an enemy attack gets her kidnapped, will a certain dark king finally ignite a fire in her hollow, unfeeling heart?</p>
            </blockquote>





	you've got a fire inside but your heart's so cold

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a little dark. Idk what prompted this but I have a love for twisted dark AUs, and Bellarke is seriously lacking in that department. So here you go. Be forewarned, it's a little twisted and kinda unhealthy. What can I say, that's just how my mind works.

Being a princess was the stuff of fantasies. After all, didn’t every little girl dream of being a princess? Of wearing beautiful ball gowns and running around in grand castles? Of having handmaidens and manservants? Of having the wealth of the world at her fingertips waiting for her every wish to be brought to life?

Perhaps it really was a fantasy, a fiction created to escape mediocrity. But the truth of the matter was, reality was much grimmer and much more undesirable than the fantasy of being a cherished princess, and Clarke of the House of Griffin knew this and so much more.

To the world, the Princess’s life was the source of envy and desire. To her, it was a golden cage made of roses and intricate embroidery designs meant to keep her on a string for the length of her existence.

Ever since Clarke was a young girl, all she had ever really experienced was pain. Pain of losing her father, pain of never feeling the love of her Queen mother, pain of losing her best friend in a brutal war, pain of giving up things that did not align with her royal image. Pain, pain, pain, and only pain.

When Clarke was ten years old, she fell in love with a horse. She convinced her tutors to let her learn to ride it on her own, and they did. But once on a fun morning ride, she lost control of her horse and it rode off into the middle of the Spring Fair, with her hanging on for dear life. She fell off her horse in the middle of the crowd in what her mother called an extraordinary embarassment to the entire Griffin line. Princesses didn’t ride horses, much less act like unruly peasant boys in public. That night, Clarke had to witness with her own eyes, the execution of her beloved horse that had dared to offend such royalty.

When Clarke was fifteen years old, she fell in love with a stable boy. He made her laugh and wrote her poems. He would help her secretly ride on the stable horses away from prying eyes. He made her feel human when the rest of the Kingdom turned her into stone, and Clarke felt light seep through cracks into the inferno of her life. One night, Clarke drew him a picture. A picture of him and her riding off into the sunset on her favorite stable horse. The next afternoon, she was going to gift it to him on their secret picnic and they would play make believe about running away and living in a far away village away from the cold castle walls.

That morning, her mother’s trusted henchman found the picture in her pillow in a random quarter search.

The next morning, Clarke had to witness her first love be executed for the crime of treason. He had helped her ride horses in secret when she was forbidden to do so. He had been a mere stable boy who had dared to dream of a make-believe life with a princess. Clarke had watched him hang with a steel face as tears had slid down her cheek. The last bleak light of her life had been snuffed out. There was nothing but misery, a vast ocean of emptiness and cold. Clarke wasn’t a girl, she was a caricature. A facade made up for show. She was a porcelain doll on the jewel-covered throne, existing only as a display of royalty and perfection for her mother and the people of Arkadia.  

Clarke of the House of Griffin was a mask cloaking the dead girl underneath.

Clarke sat at the corner of her bed, staring out of the tent opening. This evening, her duties as the Princess consisted of travelling to the Kingdom of Tondc with a royal entourage for a festival of burning lights. The journey was three days long and Clarke didn’t mind it much as it got her out of the tomb-like castle that held her forever captive. She thought about drawing a picture of the scenery outside, but decided she didn’t care enough to do so.

Clarke spent all her days with a grey cloud over her head that kept her trapped in a sea of hopelessness and emptiness. She had gotten accustomed to it by now, but sometimes, the cloud turned from grey to pitch-black, and she found herself drowning in pure darkness.

Today was one of those days.

Clarke sat there lost in her dreary thoughts until a loud scream shook her out of it. All of a sudden, the air was filled with cries and screams and she found herself frozen in place. She could hear the chaos of the campground, and Clarke knew they were being ransacked.

An armoured figure ran into her tent with alarm.

“Princess! You have to hide!” He exclaimed.

“What’s happened, Nathan?” Clarke inquired of her favorite guard.

“We’re being attacked by the Velletrians. They must have learned of your journey. You need to hide, Princess,” Nathan pleaded with her in desperation.

But before Clarke could move, or even think of where to hide, a figure crept up from behind her and gripped her firmly. Clarke gasped loudly and turned to Nathan in alarm in time to see him being attacked from behind.

“Nathan!” Clarke screamed in fear before she found herself falling into silent darkness.

 

* * *

 

There was a bitter taste in her mouth, perhaps the taste of bile? Clarke found herself regaining consciousness slowly. Her mouth was dry and her palms filled with cold sweat. Clarke breathed heavily and attempted to open her eyes.

Everything was blurry and dark. She thought she saw a dark stone wall. Perhaps she was back in the castle? Maybe the attack had been quelled and Nathan had gotten her back to the safety of the iron walls. Clarke almost felt a touch of despair at the thought.

She closed her eyes and blinked a few times. The room around her was clearing up and came into focus. Yes, there were stone walls, but these were not the familiar grey walls. These walls were darker, more foreign. Yes, this was a castle, but no, it was not her castle. Not the lifelong prison she had grown up in.

Clarke tried to sit up to investigate, and just then noticed the restraints. Her hands and feet were bound in iron chains attached to the walls. She was quite literally chained to a cold castle wall. The dark poetry of it all made her laugh a humorless, empty laugh.

Clarke studied the room around her. The walls were made of dark, menacing stones. There was a sizable bed to the right covered in dark purple and red dressings. Clarke’s eyes scanned the rest of the room and finally rested on a tapestry on the wall to her left. On it, there were two purple dragons making the shape of ‘V’ with their necks. The Velletri flag. She vaguely remembered Nathan mentioning the Velletrians earlier. She had been captured.

All Clarke knew of the Velletri Kingdom was that they were a sworn enemy to Arkadia. She had never been esteemed important enough to be told more than that. She knew they had a King. She knew that he was known for being ruthless, but that was it.

Clarke sat back against the wall, studying the details of her silk emerald dress. She tried to feel alarmed, to feel afraid, to tremble at her current situation, but no such feelings came. She knew she should be terrified, but all she could feel was hollowness and nothing. After a while, Clarke decided to close her eyes and focus on the distant sounds of ocean waves.

Clarke did not know how much time had passed, and quite honestly, she did not care. After what could have been hours or mere minutes, she heard the door open and steady footsteps made their way into the room. Clarke opened her eyes to put a face to the footsteps.

“Ah, you are awake,” the man stated with a sinister smile. He had dark messy hair that framed his face and he was wearing dark purple robes covered in beautiful stones and jewels.

She studied his intricately woven clothing curiously. It was made of rich velvet, and Clarke knew enough about the world to know that the man standing in front of her was not just any member of the royal household. It was he, himself. King Bellamy. He had come to visit his newest royal prisoner on his own. If Clarke felt anything, she would have felt important. But she just stared blankly and looked away, disinterested.

“I have to say, I expected more of a fight out of you,” Bellamy remarked with a chuckle. “House Griffin is known for its tenacity, but you seem so resigned.”

Clarke continued to ignore him, finding it more interesting to study the patterns on the windowsill. Bellamy slowly paced in front of her, studying her intently.

“I have to say, it is a pleasure to finally meet the much renowned Princess of Arkadia. I have heard tales of your beauty, but they don’t quite do you justice.” He halted in his pacing and knelt down beside her, leaning in intimidatingly. “You are quite the treasured possession of the Queen.”

Clarke finally tore her eyes off the window and turned to face him. She wanted to look ferocious, to stare at him with unyielding anger, but she knew that all that would come across was the cold emptiness of her eyes.

“And is your plan to bore me to death with your inconsequential drivel?” she retorted without a trace of an emotion, staring dead into his eyes.

Bellamy’s eyes sparkled with a touch of his ever-present ominous smile.

“There she is,” he stated quietly. “You know, now that I have you, I don’t really have to do anything to you. The Queen is at my mercy just by the mere fact of having you here.”

He studied her face, waiting for her to respond in some way. But only Clarke continued to stare blankly at him.

“But I suppose some fun could be had while you are here,” his eyes sparkled with an inhuman gleam. “Perhaps there are some military secrets that you know? Or maybe some family affair that I could use to my advantage? Or maybe just the satisfaction of seeing your mother look at the scars of your torment. You know, I have a man who has very interesting ways of making people talk. Inquisition is his speciality.”

“Do it,” Clarke stated matter-of-factly, her eyes never leaving his. “Whatever you have in mind, I’m sure I’ve felt worse.”

“A melancholy princess,” Bellamy smirked, seeming genuinely surprised. “I have to say I was not expecting that.”

Bellamy reached out a hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The action would not have been this menacing had it come from someone else, but Clarke could feel the darkness his presence emitted. She turned her head back towards the windowsill.

“So, tell me, Princess,” Bellamy whispered, really feeling out the weight of the last word on his tongue. “What have you endured that has made you so cold?”

“Maybe I was born this way,” Clarke gibed, keeping her eyes on the window.

“Maybe,” whispered back with a sweet venom in his voice, his hand now tracing the side of her face. “But I can see past the emptiness you use to hide your pain. It’s all just a charade.”

“And the King of Velletri doesn’t have anything better to do than to study the masks of wistful princesses,” Clarke derided, turning her head back to face him.

“I am a man of many talents, Princess,” Bellamy replied without missing a beat, continuing to trace her jawline. “And your sorrow is very intriguing.”

“And yet I don’t find your inept attempt at intimidation very intriguing,” Clarke spat back, sneering at him.

She knew that she was toying with fire. She was sitting here, completely powerless and in chains, in the castle of her kingdom’s sworn enemy taunting him with her provocative words. She knew she should be afraid, find ways of bargaining for her safety, but the truth was that Clarke honestly couldn’t find it in herself to worry. She didn’t feel afraid and she didn’t feel powerless. Clarke liked toying with fire. It gave her a sense of adventure and danger that made her cold heart jolt with excitement. There was something exhilarating about the recklessness and Clarke enjoyed tempting fate. She enjoyed seeing how far fate would let her push and how far it would push back. Clarke knew deep in her mind that something was terribly wrong with her, yet she didn’t care.

“Do you really think insulting me is your best option right now?” Bellamy snickered.

Clarke only replied with a taunting smile, daring him to hurt her.

“Or maybe you want to be hurt. To feel something exciting.” His eyes shone wickedly. “Poor little princess, bored of her perfect little life. Is that it?”

Clarke continued to stare back, her taunting smile now transforming into a bitter glare.

“So that is it.” His hand slowly started tracing down her neck. “So what is it that you wish for? Is it death? Or just pain? Or maybe an escape from your life?”

“What I wish for is for you to stop talking to me,” Clarke sneered.

“Are you sure that’s quite the case, my melancholy princess?” Bellamy whispered back. His hand grabbed her neck and pinned her back against the wall, bringing his face right in front of hers.

Clarke gasped, her eyes widening in surprise.

“That made you feel something, didn’t it?” Bellamy taunted, breathing her in through the ever closing distance between them.

Clarke could feel her heart rapidly pounding against her chest as her breath quickened. She didn’t want to admit it, but he was right. It did make her feel something. It made her feel excited. It made her feel something other than the cold emptiness she had felt almost all her life. Maybe it was the recklessness of her actions, or maybe it was the looming danger that thrilled her. There was a certain allure to self-destructive behavior. It was the only thing that made her feel alive. The poetic contradiction of it all was not lost on her.

“Do you usually spend your days abusing women?” Clarke taunted.

“Only when I’m met with abducted melancholy princesses,” Bellamy muttered into her ear.

Clarke shuddered at the touch of his breath on her skin.

“Does it make you feel powerful, keeping them in chains?” Clarke whispered back. “Or are women only available to you when they’re held captive?” Clarke turned her face to stare snidely into his eyes.

“There is a certain appeal in having people in chains,” he answered, unaffected by the slight. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You’re too used to being in them yourself.”

Clarke shot him a spiteful look.

The sinister gleam in his eyes increased as he chuckled at her reaction. “I can take them off if you don’t like them.”

“No one likes being in chains,” Clarke spat back bitterly, turning her head away from him.

“I know quite a few people that would disagree with you,” he replied matter-of-factly, never taking his eyes off her.

“No one likes being in chains that have been forced upon them,” she rephrased, turning back to look at him. A very deep, old pain shone through her eyes, breaking through her mask of anger and apathy.

She saw the malicious gleam in his eyes subside slightly as he studied her keenly. Then, he stood up and walked out of the door. Clarke stared after him in bewilderment.

A few minutes later, three guards entered the room. Two of them stood back and watched as one of them stepped forward and bent down towards her. He reached for the chains on her arms and legs and undid them carefully. Clarke massaged the spots on her wrists where the chains had been as she stood up slowly.

“Don’t go getting any funny ideas, Princess,” one of the guards from the back spoke. “The window has iron bars on it, and even if it didn’t, you are ten stories up from the ground. You wouldn’t make the fall.”

Clarke let out a heavy breath and turned to look at the window.

“There will be three guards stationed outside your door at all times. If you have any pressing needs, you can bring them to their attention.”

Clarke glanced back at him in acknowledgment and the three guards turned to leave. She walked towards the window and stood by it, staring out into the dark night. When she had derided him about chains, she had not expected to be heard. And now here she was, the most well-treated royal prisoner in the history of the Kingdom. Perhaps Bellamy wasn’t as evil as she had heard. Or perhaps he was running some longstanding well-formulated torture scheme. She had no way of knowing.

Clarke stared out into the vast, dark ocean in front of her. The crashing waves were calming, and standing here as a prisoner in the castle of her enemy, Clarke felt more peaceful and content than she ever had at her own golden prison of a home.

 

* * *

 

When Clarke woke up next morning, she found a tray of breakfast laid neatly on the small table by her bed. It contained two pieces of bread, several squares of cheese, fried eggs, and some sausage. Accompanying the food was a dark red colored beverage that Clarke could only assume was Ambrosia, the infamous Velletrian drink that she had only heard of in fables. She must have slept for hours because Clarke actually felt hungry. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt her mouth salivate at the smell of food. Clarke stopped to consider whether the food might be poisonous. After all, who fed their prisoner, even if it was a royal prisoner, such lavish food? After a momentary pause, Clarke proceeded to eat the food anyway.

Much of the rest of the day was spent pacing around the room and staring out of the one window. Two more times, a tray full of lavish food was delivered to Clarke, and none of it had poisoned her so far. Clarke wondered if Bellamy would come back or send one of his henchmen. She waited for something, anything, but to no avail.

Leaving Clarke on her own in the locked room with nothing to do was worse than actual torture. In the room alone, she was left to the labyrinth of her thoughts with nothing to distract herself with, no mindless task to throw herself into. Clarke stood by the window, which had now become her favorite spot, hoping that Bellamy had changed his mind about torturing her. Pain would be a welcome release from the horror of this hollow ache that forever plagued her.

At some point during the night, Clarke heard the door open behind her. She ignored the noise, assuming that it was yet another tray of food. She stared at the ocean, her head resting against the cool window frame.

“You like that window,” the deep, familiar voice stated.

Clarke felt her pulse quicken slightly. She hadn’t expected to see him again, especially not today. There was something about him that made her heart jump in excitement. Maybe it was the constant air of menace he carried around with him that enticed her. The blaring danger signs all around him that sane people would run from, but Clarke always found herself running towards. Maybe it was just the self-destructive part of her that forever longed for something perilous, but Clarke had secretly been hoping to see him again just so she could feel the thrill she had felt yesterday, and now that she admitted it, she felt a little ashamed.

“I’m planning my escape route,” she deadpanned, turning to finally look at him with a returned sense of uncaring defiance.

“That wouldn’t really work out for you,” Bellamy smirked menacingly. “I’m sure you can see how high up this room is. You wouldn’t survive the fall.”

“So I keep hearing,” Clarke bit back. “You obviously don’t know me well.”

“Tell me, Princess Clarke,” Bellamy whispered in a dangerously honey-laced voice as he walked up to her, stopping barely an inch from her. “Are you a sorceress of some kind?”

Clarke held her head up high with an unwavering stare. “Maybe I just like trying my luck.”

“There’s a difference in trying your luck and being outright suicidal.”

Clarke dropped his gaze and turned to look at the wall instead.

“It’s a pity, really,” he muttered, his hand reaching up to trace the side of her face. “So much fire and beauty, and no will to live.”

Clarke turned her face back to him with bitter scorn in her eyes.

“Maybe there is a will to live,” he whispered to her cheek. “Maybe it just needs to be ignited.”

He pulled back slightly to look into her eyes.

“Did you know the bars on this window can be opened?” He wrapped his hand around her neck one more time and pushed her back against the window. “Maybe I’ll open them. Maybe I’ll try your luck for you.”

Clarke felt her heart race as she felt his hand reach for the window latch. His fingers slowly squirmed around her neck, somewhere between tightening their grip and caressing her skin. Clarke had never felt more exhilarated or alive.

“Maybe I’ll bring you down with me,” she hissed back, lifting her face up to level with his.

A cold smile formed on his lips. He leaned in ever so close to her face, his mouth breathing right on top of hers, yet not touching it.

A heat had been building up all over her body, and Clarke felt it reach a breaking point. There was something so fiercely arousing about his ominous smile and mischievous eyes, and the precarious aura that he emitted. Clarke felt a primal longing in the depths of her abdomen like she never had before. She reached up to close the distance between their lips only to see him pull back further.

Bellamy flashed her a devilish smile and pinned her head back to the wall with the hand that was still curled around her neck.

Clarke could hear herself breathing heavily as she struggled against his grip, trying her hardest to break free and soothe the hunger within.

Bellamy leaned back in to close the distance between them but stopped merely an inch away, touching the tip of his nose to hers. He kept his face there, dangling it tantalizing close to hers but keeping her head pinned to the glass window. He seemed to be enjoying the sight of her squirming under his grip, so obviously overcome with a longing.

He reached his other hand up to her face and began tracing the side of her cheek. His hand slowly felt the length of her neck, sliding down to her collarbone and continuing down towards her lower torso.

Clarke felt her breath catch as his fingers danced around her waist. She could feel her insides squirming with desire at his touch, begging for release. Her hand tightly gripped the windowsill behind her for support.

After what felt like an eternity of tantalization, he reached for the skirt of her dress and pulled it up, gathering the fabric in his hand. Slowly, he slid his hand under the fabric, caressing her upper thigh.

Clarke shuddered at his touch. Her breathing became more and more strained as his hand slid up her thigh and into her underpants. His fingers grazed her soft warmth, and Clarke let out a soft moan. He softly stroked her in circles, watching her whimper fervently with his touch. Clarke reached out her hand to grab the front of his robes and threw her head back in elation. The friction of his touch was inciting a fire inside that threatened to consume her. Her hips writhed against him ravenously feeling herself building up towards ecstasy. Clarke panted with anticipation as a cry escaped from her lips and euphoria trembled through her.

Bellamy flashed her an exultant, satisfied smirk, leaning down to finally touch his lips to hers. He bit her lower lip, making her hiss. His hand finally dropped from her neck and grabbed her lower back, slamming her into him. His mouth crashed into hers, ferally taking in every part of her.

Clarke reached up to grab the back of his hair, pulling it passionately as she devoured him. Her entire body felt as if it was on fire. Her heart pounded against her chest and her skin trembled with craving.

Bellamy shoved her against the window, pulling away from her lips to kiss the nape of his neck, biting her already sensitive skin. Clarke gasped at the impact. He pulled back from her neck and grabbed the front of her collar, pulling her around to the other side and delving back into her lips. He pushed her roughly towards the giant bed and threw her back onto it. He practically tore open his robes and threw them off him, reaching next for her enormous dress.

It was a miracle that the dress came off without being ripped to shreds in its delicate silk. Bellamy wasted no time in spreading her open and positioning himself inside her. He let out a growl as he delved deep into her, bowing his head down to bite and kiss every part of her he could reach.

Clarke dug her nails into his back, plunging against him. Her breath was uneven and her heart felt like it would pummel out of her chest. Every inch of her body was throbbing with exhilaration. She felt something break free inside of her that she hadn’t felt in a long time. She moaned loudly as she felt the inevitable gratification loom tauntingly close until she finally tipped over the edge and reached the epitome of bliss, melting into him.

Bellamy rolled off from her and collapsed to her side, gasping for breath.

“Did that make you feel something?” he threw out with his signature devilish smile.

Clarke flashed him a devious smile, breathing heavily. “I think I have bite marks all over me.”

“I’m not known for my tenderness, Princess,” Bellamy retorted, winking at her.

With a smile, Clarke turned on her side. She knew there were better, more healthier ways of dealing with her hollow, unfeeling heart, but this was one of the only ones that made her feel anything. And sleeping with Bellamy was a better option than putting herself in a potentially life-threatening situation. Mostly. For the first time in a very long time, Clarke found herself falling into a peaceful slumber almost immediately.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So this didn't start out as smutty but then it turned into it and I have no idea what happened or why I wrote this so haha. Oh and Clarke obviously suffered from clinical depression, in case that wasn't clear. :)


End file.
